


Forgiveness

by AnorOmnis



Series: Their Unconquerable Souls [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Clueless Peter, Gen, James confronts the problem of evil, James finds it too easy to forgive, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Marauders Friendship (Harry Potter), Self loathing Remus, Self loathing Sirius
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2020-08-18 18:48:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20196376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnorOmnis/pseuds/AnorOmnis
Summary: In the aftermath of Sirius' disastrous prank on Snape, the Marauders struggle with the damage which has been done to their close-knit circle of friends. Will everyone be able to forgive, forget, and move past the damage done? What happens when external events complicate the situation? A/N: This is a James-centric story, don't be fooled by the beginning chapters.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all, this is my first ever fanfic, and I've been heavily inspired by the many amazing Marauders fic writers out there. I hope to contribute something valuable to this great mass of works. 
> 
> Although all the Marauders will feature in this work, it's primarily going to be about James. I want to start by examining how James finds it intuitively easier to forgive Sirius than Remus (or, indeed, Sirius himself) does, and how this ties back to the sort of person James is, and how he understands evil. I don't want to spoil anything I'm writing so I won't give any more away. I hope you all enjoy the work, and thank you deeply for reading!

In all fairness, Peter thought, Snape probably had it coming. The sallow faced teen had been planning to join up with the Death Eaters for at least a year now – what real loss would it have been had he perished the night before? But, he realized, of course, that this was a rather cold and detached way to look at the whole affair. The real problem wasn’t that Snape might have died, but the complicated dynamics which had produced the near-homicidal situation two nights ago.

Peter mused on the story as he stepped through the portrait of the Fat Lady and entered the common room. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand what Moony was feeling – he knew that he felt hurt, betrayed by Padfoot, and terrified at the possibility of having almost become a murderer in the night. But, then again, how valid were those fears? Moony was Moony, not the beast which his body contorted itself into once a month. They had told him that so many times when trying to be there for him. Had a murder occurred, it would not have been Moony who would have been the murderer. And Dumbledore would have understood that, would have never allowed Moony to be expelled for something that the wolf did. Peter could not imagine the twinkly eyed sorcerer ever turning his wrath upon Remus for something which he knew to be out of his control.

‘Hey Pete, fancy a game of Gobstones?’ Frank called to him as he passed.

‘Not now, thanks.’ Peter shook his head and kept walking to his dorm. His whole body was still aching with tiredness from that night, and he desperately needed to sleep. Besides, he had too much on his mind to sit around and play games with Frank. His circle of friends was facing the greatest crisis it had seen to date – and it threatened to tear them apart. Peter couldn’t have that happening. It was unthinkable. He, more than the others, needed them. He couldn’t imagine life without Moony wryly pointing out Padfoot’s losing chess strategies against Prongs, or the four of them bustling out to Hogsmeade bundled awkwardly together beneath the Cloak. It was together that the four of them had had the best times of their life. Why couldn’t the others see that? Why were they so intent on excluding Padfoot?

He opened the door to the dorm and stepped in. Two of the beds were unoccupied. Grimly, he turned his head to the third, which had its curtains drawn as though someone was inside, just as he had expected.

‘Hi, Padfoot,’ he said.

The curtains were roughly pushed aside. ‘Remus, I’m so sor-‘– the apology died on Sirius’ lips as he saw Peter. His face fell. ‘Remus not with you?’

‘Afraid not’, he offered weakly. Sirius nodded, his chin quivering, and closed the curtains in front of him again. Peter laid down on his bed and was about to close his eyes when he heard Sirius’ voice again.

‘I’m really glad you’re still around, Wor- Peter. I know James can’t want you hanging around me right now.’ There really wasn’t anything Peter could say to that, so he turned over and pretended to sleep. Sirius didn’t say anything further, for which Peter was grateful. His dazed mind still hadn’t managed to catch up with everything which had happened, and didn’t understand why these problems existed.

Why would the other two exclude Padfoot this way? He was their friend – Prongs’ best friend! Their friendship meant too much to come to an end over an ill-advised prank. They’d all done horrible things to each other in the past – he remembered the time Moony had slipped itching powder into the lining of Prongs’ _Wonder Witch_ magazines, leaving the latter complaining of being unable to use the toilet properly for a week. Why was this incident so much worse? Snape hadn’t died. Moony wouldn’t have been expelled. There was no chance of Snape ever telling anyone, not with how much favouritism Dumbledore showed Moony. What was the problem, then?

Moony had mentioned something earlier, when Peter had been talking to him, keeping him company while lightly and subtly prodding for information. He had said that he couldn’t forgive Padfoot for using him that way. _Using him. _Was that small issue really going to be the reason that the Marauders broke apart? It wasn’t such a terrible thing, to be used – the others used Peter’s animagus form to do the majority of the dangerous scouting for their pranks and plans. And it wasn’t as though that was always done with Peter’s approval. He was often extremely scared and worried about being caught, as practically anything could hurt him as a rat. It was only because of the Prongs and Padfoot’s relentless pressuring and Moony’s silent compulsion that he ever went. Why was this any different? He felt bad about it for a little while after, but it was all always alright afterward – it was just a joke, just a laugh. Padfoot had always been good with getting everyone to laugh. He might have miscalculated this time, but that was no reason to let this horrible feeling of hostility seep into all of their bonds.

Peter sighed. He really didn’t know what was going to happen, and he wasn’t very happy about it. His overworked body pulled him into a disturbing slumber, his mind caught up in visions of wolves and blood and pale little boys.


	2. Chapter 2

_Reg? With them?_

Sirius was still reeling with shock. It couldn't be possible. Images of a black serpent slithering up a pale white arm flashed and shocked through his mind, the last few scattered things seen by a deer as it gazed into the headlights. _Slithering. Defiling. Molesting_.

His fingers still tightly gripped the portent of his misfortune in his hands – the letter being squeezed so tightly that his veins might burst. He didn't need to look at it again to know what it contained. The image was burned into his spirit, and though he closed his eyes, he could still see Walburga Black's smooth copperplate writing dancing across the paper.

_Sirius,_

_This letter may come as a surprise to you. I certainly did not expect to engage in any correspondence with you this year. You have been an absolute disgrace to the family name, and simply putting quill to parchment reminds me of the disgust I feel when I behold the polluted environ you call a room. However, I feel that this most monumental of family matters may be of interest to you, and may yet be able to reach some part of the fragmented Black soul within you, in spite of your unworthy attempts to suppress and control it._

_You have heard, no doubt, of the recent swell in the prestige and notability of the Dark Lord. You are also acquainted, I believe, with the fact that your cousin Bella has brought much repute to her family in the right sort of circles through her service to him as one of his Death Eaters. I write you this letter today to inform you that a similar honour is now to be showered upon our family – my child, Regulus Arcturus Black, has today been anointed by the Dark Lord himself as one of his worthy knights. So you see, child of mine, that in spite of your relentless efforts to tarnish the Black name in polite company, the family is still possessed with the same grit and spirit which will cause it to rise further and further._

_I compel you to come to your senses and realize, Sirius, that you are yet a Black. Understand your role and prepare yourself for your eventual ascension to head of the family. Your childish indiscretions can yet be wiped away, your Gryffindor mistake erased from history. We have money and influence – to change how the world sees you is no small feat, but we are willing to accomplish it. You will always be a Black, Sirius. Even though it is Regulus who has today been given this honour, I know in my heart of hearts that you have the capacity to rise further in the Dark Lord's ranks than anyone, even Bella, who appears to be somewhat of a favourite of his. Do not fight your destiny, child. I know you to be surly and rebellious, but I know also that those same traits can be marshalled in favour of our clan in the form of determination and absolute authority. Come to your senses. You are more of a Black than your brother, or even your father, could ever hope to be. Come back to us, and lead our dynasty into a new and beautiful world._

_Walburga Black_

Sirius' head span. Regulus. His brother. His baby brother. A Death Eater. It couldn't be possible. It shouldn't be allowed. He wasn't yet fifteen years of age.

He felt a nauseous stirring in the pit of his stomach. _You will always be a Black, Sirius._ Was that all he'd been doing, then? Escaping his destiny and playing pretend with the rest of the lads in Gryffindor? Was there some toxic rot in his soul, _in his blood,_ that condemned him to forever share in the darkness of his family?

'Hah..' a helpless chuckle escaped his throat before he could help himself. His chest heaved and shook as he continued to be attacked by unbidden giggling. _I can't escape. It's in me._ His whole body convulsed as he threw himself into the hilarious futility of it all with gleeful abandon. He fell to his knees as he laughed and laughed, the sharp sound of his demented cackling echoing off the walls of the deserted classroom he had taken refuge in.

His eye caught the glint of the full moon through the wrought iron bars of the window. _Remus_…

What would his friends think? James had told him before, told him that he was no Black, that he was better than them, that there was no toxin in his blood –

Just then, he heard a scuffling sound outside the door. 'Who's there?' _James? Would he be alright, after all?_

The door opened, and Severus Snape entered the room, his wand pointed at Sirius. 'I wouldn't have thought there was anything so funny about sitting alone in a classroom in the dead of night, Black, yet I could hear that jackal-like yelping you call laughter from half the castle away.'

Snape. Not James. The wild sense of abandon returned to Sirius. He felt almost weightless. Snape. Not James. That was alright. An unbearable lightness took over his being. He could handle Snape.

'Ah, my dear Severus!' Sirius sprang to his heels. Snape took a step back, visibly confused by the enthusiasm of the greeting. 'I'd been wondering when you'd come to visit!'

Snape's eyebrow twitched. 'Charming though you may think yourself to be, Black, I try not to make it a habit to encounter you. Now that I have, though," he pointed his wand at Sirius' chest. A soft smile curved the edge of his lips, causing a dim light to sparkle in his eyes, looking for all intents and purposes like a young child presented with a toy.

Sirius scoffed at the raised wand, and made no attempt to draw his own. 'Severus, Severus, Severus – are we really going to play this same old game again? Playful banter in the mornings, teasing little hexes in the night?'

Snape ignored him. 'I find myself to not have sunken quite to the level of Potter and yourself, so I'll allow you a moment to draw your wand, Black.'

_You will always be a Black, Sirius._

'My dear man,' Sirius walked jauntily towards Snape, who kept his wand pointed unerringly at his chest. 'Think about this rationally. You curse me here, you go tug yourself off to the memory later at night, and a day later, nothing's changed. You don't get a lasting benefit out of this, do you? I can give you something so much better.

_What am I doing?_

Snape's wand lowered slightly. 'What exactly are you trying to say, Black?'

_Destroy him. You will always be a Black, Sirius. Absolute authority. Domination._

Sirius dipped his head conspiratorially towards Snape and spoke in an exaggerated stage whisper. If his dramatics were making any effect on the sallow faced boy, it was certainly not visible on his face. 'Say, you've always wondered where Remus disappears to, haven't you?'

_What am I doing? What am I doing? WHAT AM I DOING?_

He could hear James in his head, screaming at him to stop. Stop, or doom Remus, doom himself, doom everything. But James seemed so far away, and Regulus seemed so close. He could practically hear the serpent crooning from Reg's damaged little arm. He wanted to set the world alight. Burn it down, and damn the consequences. Wasn't that what it meant to be powerful? To have control over your life and over those who you loved?

Sirius lit the fire.

'Well, see, you know about the Whomping Willow? There's this knot, and if pressed just the right way…"

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

A minute later, Snape had taken off, intrigued to finally possess the answer to the mystery he'd pondered for four years. Sirius leaned back against the wall to exult in the overwhelming giddiness he'd been feeling, the strength of will he'd experienced in that single intoxicating moment – but all of a sudden, it wasn't there.

_You will always be a Black, Sirius._

Had he believed that? Even for a second? 'Oh God,' he thrust his hands to his face, the impact pushing him roughly into the wall and causing him to fall on his rear. 'Remus, Moony. Oh God.'

Snape would see Remus. Snape would see Remus in his transformed state, and it would all be because of Sirius. He had to do something. _Prongs_. James wouldn't have gone yet. James would have been waiting patiently for Sirius. James would know what to do.

He wasn't aware of running frantically through the castle until he found himself, almost as though he were in some sort of dream, giving the Fat Lady the password to enter the Gryffindor common room. James sat in front of the fire, and smiled at Sirius as he entered.

'Pads, you're late, we've got to-'

'Prongs. Listen. Please.' The intensity of the plea in Sirius' voice caused his voice to crack. James looked at him, concerned and expectant. Sirius gulped. He would have to be braver now than he had ever been in his life.

'I told Snape about Remus. He's on his way to the Whomping Willow.'

James' smile froze in place for a second, but fell off as realization and shock widened his eyes. His wand and Cloak were in his hand and he was bounding out through the portrait-hole, paying no heed to Sirius's anguished 'Sorry! I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry.'

_You will always be a Black, Sirius._

'Fuck!'


	3. Chapter 3

Remus came to suddenly, his body aflame. He winced, as he always did after his sudden revivals from wolfdom. The intense agony of transforming back into his human state – his bones growing shorter and folding onto themselves, his thick fur drilling its way back into the skin all over his weak little body, his razor sharp teeth jaggedly cutting their way across his gums as they retreated back into his skull – overwhelmed him entirely, no matter how many moons he faced it.

What Remus did not know was that he handled his transformation with more maturity than almost anyone else ever did or could. What Remus did not know was that he was almost unique among werewolves, the only sign of his pain the clenching of his jaw and the winces running across his body. He had never seen the rest of his kind after the moon – poor, sad little cubs left to cry at the rising dawn and feverishly lick their wounds, hoping to stem the bleeding and stop the pain, the _pain._ Remus thought only that he must bear it, as all the rest of his kind surely did.

His senses slowly returned to him. Smell came first, a carry-over from his lupine other. A sterile, disinfected, sort of scent. He was in the Hospital Wing, as always. Sight and sound were soon to follow, and they confirmed his observation. Touch and taste, as always, were the last to return, struggling as they did to assert themselves against the world-ending, skin tearing pain that possessed him. But the pain, as always began to recede from sharpness into something duller. It didn’t ever really go away – not truly. It would fade into a dull ache over the course of the next week, though he would still wince whenever put through anything strenuous. He would carry that ache until the next moon, when it would once again erupt with the violent and ecstatic torment of the wolf.

As the pain receded and became less all-possessing, he became aware of the specific parts of his body which bore his newest wounds. A few scattered across his bony chest, and an especially long gash on his right calf. He’d have to limp for a while, he mused, but at least he hadn’t damaged his hand again. A particularly bad moon in the fourth year had left him unable to write for a month, almost entirely reliant on James and Sirius’ less than ideal Potions notes.

Remus made to push himself slightly off his back, loathing as he did the feeling of being an indigent. As he pulled his head up from the pillow, he coughed, and felt a warm metallic bile at the back of his throat.

_Blood._

Remus let out a panicked yell as he pulled his body upright, ignoring the protestations of his bruised muscles.

‘Are you alright, Remus?’ He looked up to see Professor Dumbledore walk in through the white doors of the Hospital Wing.

_Blood. Dumbledore. Pain._

‘The blood – whose blood-‘

‘- You needn’t worry, Remus. The only blood you have spilled is your own.’ Remus let out a palpable sigh of relief in the middle of Dumbledore’s sentence, but the wizard kept speaking. ‘I am afraid that you injured yourself quite badly yesterday, furious as you were to have been denied your prey.’

Remus’ heart stopped. ‘My prey?’

The characteristic twinkle of Dumbledore’s eyes was missing as he continued speaking, replaced by a quiet sorrow. ‘I am afraid to say that Mr. Snape made his way to the Shrieking Shack last night. Upon his arrival, he was greeted by a fully grown werewolf.’

‘No… no. Is he… Is he alright?’ The question was almost too difficult to force out of his still hoarse throat.

‘You have nothing to fear on that front, Remus. With the possible exception of a bruised pride, Mr. Snape has escaped entirely unharmed. Mr. Potter is to be thanked for this, as it was his heroic actions, which involved placing his own life at risk, that ended up being the cause of young Severus’ rescue.’

Remus’s mouth curved into a small, wry grin. James could always be counted on to play the hero, noble little git. The name helped a small warmth blossom in his heart. The warmth was suddenly doused as a thought occurred to him. ‘And Severus knows, now? That it was me?’

‘Be at ease, Remus.’ Dumbledore’s voice was warm and comforting, much as it had been when he had first assured Remus that he could come to Hogwarts, five long years ago. Remus had never realized how much he owed to that soothing voice before. ‘I have had words with Severus, and he will tell nobody about what he saw yesterday. Your time in Hogwarts shall continue, and this incident shall not haunt your future. You can be sure of this.’

It was as if a weight had been lifted from Remus’ shoulders. A small laugh escaped from his lips. ‘Thank you, Professor Dumbledore.’

‘It is by far the least I could have done for an exceptional young wizard such as yourself, Remus.’ Dumbledore’s voice was possessed with such sincerity that Remus blushed from the force of his appreciation. He looked away from the older wizard, suddenly shy at the eye contact. Albus Dumbledore was sitting in front of him and expressing his admiration for _him_. The man who’d beaten Grindelwald! The only greater happiness he’d ever felt had been when James had roughly shoved him into a wall and shouted that he would never stop being Remus’ friend, when Remus had tried to distance himself from his friends upon them learning of his secret. James – the James who had gone ahead and saved his future by saving Snape, his worst enemy. Sometimes Remus didn’t understand how he had gotten so lucky in his best friends. They had accepted him as a werewolf, become Animagi for him, and now saved him from becoming a killer. While the thought of the near-miss would continue to haunt him, he knew, he also knew that he would find solace and comfort in those same brilliant friends in the daunting times to come.

‘Professor,’ Remus asked suddenly, ‘do you know where my friends are? Only, they’re usually here when I wake up after the change.’

Dumbledore’s expression turned solemn. He walked to the chair by Remus’ bed and sat down, sighing. ‘I suppose we can delay this unpleasant conversation no further.’

‘Professor?’

‘Has it not occurred to you to wonder yet, Remus, how it was that Severus happened upon his unfortunate discovery? The path to the Shack is well hidden, and the Whomping Willow makes for a formidable guardian.’

‘Then how did he find his way there, Professor? And what does this have to do with my friends not being here?’

‘It would appear that Mr. Black found it amusing to tell Mr. Snape the secret of the Willow, and to follow the tunnel that lay within. I do not think he reasoned through the consequences of his action, and did not intend for anything more than a fright for poor Mr. Snape upon beholding the wolf.’

Remus felt the world ground to a screeching halt. ‘Sirius told?’

‘I am afraid so. I have spoken with him at great length about the matter, and he will be appropriately punished, though I feel that the greatest punishment will come from within himself. I have often felt that this schoolyard rivalry between your friends and Mr. Snape has gone too far, and that such hostilities feed directly into the great evil of our ti-‘

‘-Please, Professor. I’m sorry, but I think I’d prefer to be alone right now.’ Remus cut Dumbledore off mid-sentence. He wasn’t interested in the broader ethics of inter-house unity at that moment.

Dumbledore blinked, caught off guard, before he spoke again, ‘I don’t think that that would be very wise, Remus. I do not claim to know what you’re going through right now, but I know it must be a lot-‘

‘-_Please_, Professor,’ his voice cracked slightly as he begged, ‘Please, I just want to be alone.’

Dumbledore looked at him again, his sad blue eyes meeting Remus’ over his half-moon spectacles. They glistened, wet, and Dumbledore nodded. He stood up and made to leave the room. ‘Remember, Remus. You are more than what you think you are. Your friends know this to be true as well. Feel your rage and your hurt, but remember the value of forgiveness.’ And then he was gone, having floated out of the Hospital Wing as though he had never been there at all.

_Breathe in. Breathe out._

Sirius. He had told Snape.

_In. Out._

Betrayed him? Or rather, used him?

_In. Out._

He could have killed somebody. Snape’s blood would have been on his hands. He would have been a murderer. A sudden wave of nausea gripped him and he doubled over, causing the wounds in his back and chest to keen in agony.

‘Moony?’ Remus’ head turned reluctantly upward at the sound of the familiar voice. He wanted to be alone, but he knew he owed too much to the speaker to demand solitude from him.

‘Hullo, James.’

James rushed over to his bedside, a bundle of manic energy and too-long limbs. ‘Merlin, you look terrible. I haven’t seen you hurt yourself like this since fourth year.’

‘Well. It was a bit of an unusual night.’ Remus kept his voice deliberately casual. He didn’t want to talk about it.

James seemed to pick up on the tone immediately, and his eyes glinted concernedly for only a second before he set about mirroring it perfectly. ‘Damn, Moony, just how many times did you manage to get yourself in the chest this time? Seven? That shreds last year’s record!’ He grinned, a small spark of mischief in his eyes. ‘The girls are going to be all over that. Polite, mysterious, and scarred: you make a deadly combination, Remus.’

Remus smiled in spite of himself. ‘Well, eight, actually. You’re not counting the deep one over here.’ He gestured at the bandaging on the right side of his chest, just below his shoulder.

James scratched his head sheepishly and lowered his eyes. ‘Well, that one wasn’t exactly you…’

‘Huh?’

‘I _might_ have gored you with an antler to keep you from trying to smash down the door of the Shack after I got Snape out of there.’ James looked back up with a small grin as he said it, clearly thinking about the mischievous mishap. But he’d brought the topic up, and Remus could hold his feelings down no longer.

‘Where is he, James?’

‘Snape? You didn’t actually rough him up, you know, there’s no reason for him to be here-‘

‘-Not Snape.’

‘Ah.’ James’ face tightened in recognition. ‘He was here earlier. All night, actually. Wanted to see you first thing when he woke up.’

‘I’m glad he’s not here.’ Remus’ heart pounded as loud as thunder at this expression of ungratefulness. But Sirius deserved it. ‘I don’t ever want to speak to him again.’

‘He didn’t mean it, Remus.’ James’ face looked sad.

‘Is that how it’s going to be, then?’ Remus’ voice slipped out of him at a higher pitch than he had intended, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t have his friends support what had just happened. ‘Are you going to pretend that nothing happened, go around like I didn’t almost just kill a man? Pretend I’m not a mon-‘

‘-Don’t you bloody well finish that sentence.’ James pointed his finger aggressively in Remus’ direction. ‘I’ve had this conversation with you a hundred times, you’re not a monster, you just have a furry little problem. And,’ he waved down Remus as the latter attempted to speak ‘I have no intention of pretending that nothing happened. For your information, I punched Pad- Sirius in the face as soon as I got back with Snape. I don’t plan to pretend that he didn’t massively mess up and nearly ruin everything. He was a complete idiot, and it very nearly led to someone dying. I won’t deny that I’ve messed around with Snivelly in the past, but that all stops now, trust me. But he didn’t mean for any of it to happen, Remus, you _know_ that.’

‘I don’t know anything anymore, James.’

‘You’re not going to forgive him?’

‘Doesn’t seem that I need to. It looks like you already have.’

‘I haven’t forgiven him, Remus. I won’t forgive him until you find it fit to.’

James’ words and solidarity were comforting, but they were hollow. Maybe James actually believed himself that he hadn’t already forgiven Sirius. But it was so clear that he had. That punch had probably packed into it all of the punishment that James had felt his best friend deserved for his antics. But James didn’t feel the same deep hatred that Remus felt right now.

_Hatred? You just want to tell him it’s alright and this changes nothing._

Hatred. Remus was not in the wrong here. He had to keep telling himself that. It was Sirius who was. And he could not forgive him, not for this. It wouldn’t be right to forgive him for this.

_But then why did he feel that the only person who’d done something unforgiveable was himself?_


	4. Chapter 4

_Time, _James mused, _is a rather ruddy thing_. Somehow, the better part of five years spent in blissful friendship with his mates seemed like a scattered and faraway memory, separated from the present by the painful chasm of the past few weeks. The Incident, as James had taken to calling the whole affair in his head, had somehow managed to become an era unto itself, in spite of the fact that it had only been a trifling twenty three days since it had happened.

Twenty three days since The Incident. Twenty one days since he had looked into Remus’ amber eyes and felt more than he had known it was possible to feel. Remus had kept up an admirable façade of coolness and composure in the last few weeks, but James knew his friend better than that. He remembered seeing conflict in Remus’ eyes – the conflict that he knew his friend still battled with whenever he was alone in his bed at night.

If you asked James, he would tell you that he knew his friends better even than they knew themselves. Peter would probably agree. If you were to ask Sirius or Remus, they would have scoffed and said that James needed to get his oversized head out of his arse, but then pulled the questioner towards them to surreptitiously whisper their agreement. So, when James came to the conclusion that Moony wouldn’t be able to keep all of his pain inside for very long, it was a foregone conclusion that his friend was going to have a breakdown sooner or later.

Remus held out admirably long, but one day James returned to find him in what could only be described as the ruins of their dormitory. Clothes were strewn everywhere, books had had their pages ripped out violently and flung to the skies, and mindlessly cast blasting hexes had left blackened burn marks on the wall.

To his credit, James rose to the occasion magnificently. His initial silent moment of shock aside, James betrayed no sign of panic or frenzy when he approached Remus, who knelt alone at the base of his bed.

‘Well, Moony old chap, you’ve really gone and done it now, haven’t you?’ There was a comfortable warmth in James’ voice. It was the warmth of cozy fireplaces, rocking chairs, and of the furnace of love itself.

Remus looked up. His eyes were watery, but he managed to smile wanly in spite of himself. ‘Prongs. How embarrassing.’

‘You can use the nicknames again? That’s a right relief, eh?’ James eagerly returned the smile as he bent down next to his friend. ‘Managed to get all of the hurt out of you yet?’

‘I don’t think I’ll ever manage to get it all out of me.’

‘Not with that attitude, you won’t. Now stay down here with me and tell me what’s been going on in that messy little head of yours, Remus.’

‘It’s a veritable maelstrom in here, James. Are you sure?’

‘Sod off, you pretentious little twat. “A veritable maelstrom” indeed. Stop dignifying the 18th century Romantic poet in you and give it to me straight. What’s up in there, Moony?’

Remus smiled again, in spite of himself – again. He braced himself by taking a deep breath before speaking.

‘Well, you see - … I’ve sort of been struggling.’

‘Struggling, really? I never would have guessed.’ James looked pointedly at a burn mark at the foot of the bed, small embers still glowing red from the blaze.

‘Right. Perhaps that’s a little bit of an understatement. I’ve been having some rather intense feelings, and they’ve just sort of slipped out of me a little.’

‘Tell me about them, Moony.’ The nonchalant, teasing façade disappeared entirely with those words. James was entirely serious now, and his hazel eyes pierced Remus with the sort of sincerity that only James, among all people, had ever been able to muster.

‘I thought I hated him, James. I thought I hated Sirius. But I didn’t, did I? I thought I did, but I didn’t. It didn’t make sense to me. Whenever I saw his face, or thought about him, I felt _so many_ things. I felt like I wanted to throw up, to tear off my skin, to hide in a corner and never look up again, like I’d never see light, like I’d never feel whole, like I wasn’t fit to be around people.’ Remus paused to take a deep breath, then continued. ‘But those aren’t the things you feel when you hate somebody, are they? When you hate somebody you don’t have that sort of conflict when you think about them. It’s just hate. Hate is easy. There’s nothing to it. I’ve been trying to convince myself that I hate Sirius for the better part of a month now. But I don’t, James, and no matter much I try, I don’t think I’ll be able to. He didn’t mean to do it. He didn’t know what he was doing. It was reckless, stupid, insane, but it was Sirius. It wasn’t something Dark. It wasn’t some malevolent intent possessing him to bring ruin to me. He was just a silly schoolboy playing a silly prank with no thought for the consequences.’ Remus’s speaking slowed, and his face strained, as though he was trying to force himself to continue speaking, but the topic ahead proved too painful.

‘Go on, Moony,’ James prodded gently.

It was the sound of Remus’ old nickname more than anything which did it. ‘I’ve been struggling all this while to figure out whether or not I can forgive Sirius. But I came to the realization not so long ago, didn’t I? When I burned this room down. It’s not Sirius I can’t forgive. I forgave him ages ago.’ His voice dropped to a whisper. ‘It’s myself.’

‘Oh, Moony,’ James moulded his voice into the low and comforting tone he reserved, almost exclusively, for Remus’ bouts of self-loathing. Though the three non-lycanthropic Marauders suspected that their friend suffered from these bouts rather frequently, they were only ever exposed to and made aware of them on very few occasions, and they had made an unspoken vow to love Remus in those moments in the way that he could not find it in his heart to love himself.

‘No, James. You can’t just pretend nothing’s wrong.’

‘Of course nothing’s wrong, you bloody great wanker. It’s not your fault you’re a werewolf!’ Angry rebuke replaced the comforting tone in James’ voice in a flip second.

‘It doesn’t matter whose bloody fault it is! I could have killed Snape. I know you think that it doesn’t matter because he got away, but I could have mauled him. I might have woken up with his blood in my throat, and his corpse in front of my face. That would have been on me. I’m a danger to everyone around me. I’m Dark, James, that’s what I am, _Dark – _and anyone who tries to deny it is just kidding themselves. I should never have come here! I’m a walking talking threat to every other student at this school. I don’t care what Dumbledore and McGonagall say, I showed just a few short weeks ago that there’s no way trusting that I won’t hurt somebody.’

James sat silently, his face stern and unmoving as he listened to his friend continue to tear into himself. Remus’ voice dropped as he continued, no longer shouting, but speaking in a hushed undertone. ‘And it’s so hard to accept, James. I’m not blaming any of you for this, but it’s so much harder to accept what I am now. You’ve all been so good to me. You’ve all told me I could be so much more than I am. You gave me hope. But it’s not real hope, James, and it can’t be. I’ve been gorging myself on the imaginary delights of being like everyone else, of living a normal life like anyone else. And that imagination makes it so much harder for me to accept the truth now.’ His voice dropped even further, coming out as a choked whisper. ‘Why didn’t any of you tell me I was a monster, James? Why did you lie to me?’

James noticed that the depth of the pit of despair that Remus had flung himself into was deeper than it had ever been before, and did not pursue his normal tactic: shouting angrily at Remus about what a great person he was until he stopped moping because of the validation. He chose instead to sit with his friend in companionable silence. He was there for him, and that was really all he could offer. He had never felt so helpless in his life.

Time began to move quicker again after that. Remus forgave Sirius, and the Marauders seemed to become whole again to any outside observers. More diligent observers such as Lily Evans, noted, however, that the group still had not regained the dazzling and dashing grace which had always characterized it, and that it was still dulled, still polluted by some black, disgusting trauma.

James noticed it, too. Neither Remus nor Sirius seemed to have forgiven themselves for their role in the affair. Although they had made up, Sirius still walked without the skip in his footstep, and seemed to be perpetually tiptoeing around Remus, interacting with him as gingerly as though he were a fresh, stinging bruise. Still, Sirius was slowly getting better, and the light coming back into his eyes.

It was Remus who did not show signs of improvement. There had always been a darkness in his spirit, but it had never been so pronounced before. The Marauders had always joked about Remus being a bit of a professor, but it had always been about his academic inclinations. He seemed like a professor for entirely different reasons now, though. James thought that Remus was beginning to feel as old and weary of a spirit as McGonagall. He had hoped that Remus would grow past the intense sadness he had displayed, but despite time’s best efforts, it seemed to persist. It wasn’t all that there was in Remus, of course. James was ferociously devoted to his friends, and aggressively forced himself to notice all the good things that were still visible in Remus. He was still kind, charming to his professors, sarcastic to a fault, and an all-sound fantastic friend to have around. But he was sad now. And somehow, James knew – Remus would always be sad from now on, and there was nothing anybody could do about it. He could never forgive himself.

The feeling of helplessness turned into a constant queasiness that James could feel in the pit of his stomach, growing every time he saw his friend growing older before his eyes. He was almost frantic by the time that a month passed since The Incident. This state of affairs could not continue. There was no stable equilibrium. James was a man of action, and sitting by and doing nothing, even if there was nothing that could be done, did not sit well with him. Something was going to have to give.


	5. Chapter 5

‘Potter. Potter! Listen to me when I’m talking, Potter!’

With an effort, James lifted his head from where it had been slumped on the common room couch. Lily Evans stood in front of him. Not too long ago, the sight of Evans alone would have been cause enough for James’ mood to perk up and for him to mischievously begin planning his next (and probably failed) attempt to woo the fiery witch. As it was, his day had been a bit too bad for a redheaded apparition to fix it. Still, he had to be civil.

‘Whatsit, Evans?’ He mumbled. His head ached terribly – a memento from the Bludger that had cracked his skull not a full hour ago.

‘What’s gotten into you lately? That’s the worst I’ve ever seen you play.’ Evans accused.

She wasn’t wrong, James pondered. For as long as he had been on the team, Gryffindor had excelled at controlling the Quaffle, and through it, winning countless games of Quidditch. He wasn’t much enamoured with the concept of false modesty, and knew full well that he was the best Chaser that Hogwarts had seen in many long years. This made the nature of their defeat even more intense. Ravenclaw had thrashed them in terms of scoring goals, with the only thing making the match even remotely close the fact that the Gryffindor Seeker had miraculously managed to catch the Snitch. James had been whalloped by more Bludgers than had hit him in his entire Quidditch career, and had managed to score one measly goal – and that too, only with the assistance of the rest of the Gryffindor Chasers. It had been an abysmal performance. He winced at the memory.

‘Potter?’ Evans spoke. James had zoned out again, and suddenly started back.

‘Yeah, well – what’s it to you, anyway? Maybe I couldn’t fly because my big head was weighing me down, right? Since when have you cared about Quidditch and what I play like?’ He tried to find comfort in their natural rhythm – attack, counterattack, and the occasional plea from him to take her to Hogsmeade.

‘I don’t _care_ about you or your game!’ Evans seemed to blush a little. ‘I’m just speaking as a concerned supporter of Gryffindor.’

‘Right, supporter of Gryffindor – Because you’ve been to see _so_ many of our games before, haven’t you Evans? And, in case I’m forgetting, isn’t it true that you always sit over in the Slytherin stands with old Snape? You know, the same stands which boo Gryffindor, the team that you’re such a _concerned supporter _of?’

It was easier to bite than it was to whimper, though the latter was all that James really wanted to do. It had been the first match that Gryffindor had had to play since The Incident and its attendant misfortunes, and James had grossly overestimated his ability to keep his head in the game. He could still see his Captain, Adam Vance, shouting at him at the end of the match.

_‘You need to get your shit together, Potter! Half of our strategy is reliant on you pulling your head out of your ass and being the Chaser we all know you can be. Merlin, but you’re meant to be a shoe-in for Captain next year! Believe me, that’s not going to be happening if you keep playing like a broom-shy first year. Clean your act up well before the next game, or you’re off the team. I mean it.’_

‘Um. Potter?’

James blinked as he realized he’d zoned out again. Evans was still standing in front of him. But she didn’t seem at all angered by the hurtful barbs he had tossed her way a moment prior. Instead, a deep concern glistened in her green eyes.

‘Why are you still here, Evans?’

‘Well… That is to say… The others and I… - we’re a little bit worried about you.’

‘Worried?’

Evans sat down in front of him. ‘Well, it’s not every day that you see James Potter looking like an abandoned waif from Dickens.’

‘Dickens?’ James scratched his head awkwardly.

‘Ah, never mind that. My point was that you’ve looked really sad lately – properly down in the dumps.

‘You been watching me?’ He let out a half-hearted attempt at banter, his lips awkwardly curving upwards as they attempted to form his trademark smirk.

‘Nobody really has to watch you, Potter. Believe it or not, it’s always incredibly obvious to everyone how you feel. When you’re happy, the obnoxious bespectacled git that we’ll all come to recognize is very visible to us. Now that you’ve been sad for a bit, everyone can see it. And while I’m not your biggest fan, I really can’t stand to see you looking like… this.’

James raised his head. A small warmth had begun to blossom in his heart, and was slowly melting the cold dark of his rather horrid day. ‘Why not?’

‘Well. You just make everyone sad when you’re moping, that’s all. I could hardly stand to have lunch on the same table as you, what with you looking so sad. You’ve got infectious moods, Po- James.’ She smiled at him, her teeth glinting radiantly.

The warmth grew a bit bigger, and James knew that he would be alright. ‘Thanks, Evans. Really – you didn’t have to do that. It was – it was very decent of you.’ He stammered out the last bit, the honest compliment a slightly uneasy addition to the usual repertoire of their conversations.

‘I know I didn’t have to. I wanted to. I hope you shake this nonsense off and rid the castle of the horrible cloud of gloom you’ve got it submerged in at the moment. I, for one, quite happen to like the sun. ’

If Lily Evans liked the sun, then as far as James was concerned, nighttime and the moon had no business ever showing their ugly faces again.

‘Thought you hated me, Evans? Bit surprised you’d come and say all of these things to me.’

‘I don’t _hate_ you. You’re just a huge prat, and it’s very easy to be mad at you. I know there’s some decency in you yet.’

‘You do?’ James, for his part, was genuinely surprised. He knew that he was a decent sort of chap, but he’d always somehow managed to bungle up his image in front of Evans by rather consistently putting his foot in his mouth.

‘Well, yeah.’ James gave her a quizzical look. ‘Rumour has it that you saved Sev’s life some time back. He gets angry if anyone ever mentions it, so I sort of know that it’s true. Anyway, I know that you and him kind of hate each other, so that was a damned decent thing for you to do.’

James grimaced momentarily at the reminder of Snape’s brush with death, but only for a moment – Lily Evans thought that he was a decent person! Nothing was going to get his mood down right now.

‘Say, Evans – go to Hogsmeade with me?’ Lily’s smile faltered slightly, a thin stiffness beginning to form in her cheeks.

‘Now, listen Potter, I was saying these things _strictly _as a –‘

‘-I know, I know, just yanking your chain. Couldn’t hurt to ask, though, could it?’ James’ eyes glinted mischievously, and Lily’s face relaxed as she saw the mirth in them.

‘Git,’ she quipped, rather unimaginatively, before picking up and walking away, waving fondly at him as she did.

It seemed to James that his rather terrible day, and by association, his rather terrible week, had picked up tremendously. The dull miasma which had seemed to grip Hogwarts, and especially Gryffindor, over the past week suddenly broke. The day seemed brighter, the castle seemed louder, and there was a throbbing, aching vibrancy in the air – James Potter was back.

Everyone in the castle was immensely grateful for this, just as Lily Evans had predicted. The rest of the student body felt that something unnatural had been righted. The teaching staff felt their parental instincts tingle with happiness to see the wiry, messy-haired boy back to his usual jovial exuberance in the classroom. Peeves whooped with glee several times a day in celebration of the return of the prankster-in-chief of Hogwarts.

Everyone was grateful – except one person. With his renewed lease on optimism, James Potter had set himself to the task of tearing down Remus Lupin’s deep sadness until he could share in James’ boundless happiness. Unfortunately for Lupin, this meant that James would attempt very blatant and misguided strategies in service of his newfound quest.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James attempts to cheer Remus up.

The thing about being best friends with a prodigy, Remus Lupin mused wryly, was that he never seemed to be busy during classes. And today happened to be Transfiguration, of all things. While the majority of the students in the combined Gryffindor-Slytherin classroom were pointing their wands at their stubbornly immutable candlesticks, James Potter had managed to transform his into a salamander with a single, lazy flick of his wand. For maximum ostentation, he had also given it the ability to burp out little fireballs. Sirius had managed to accomplish his task with much the same careless languor, albeit sans flashy pyrotechnics. He now sported a macabre grin as he furiously jotted something down on a piece of paper before sending it flying over to James, winking as he did.

Remus blinked away from the scene that he had been caught up watching for far too long, attempting to resume work on his own candlestick. Although it had sprouted four little legs at the base, he wasn’t quite sure that McGonagall would be willing to credit him with having completed the Transfiguration. He gave the ill-conceived creature a forlorn poke of his wand, hoping in vain that something would change. The candle wick caught fire, and the feet, which had so far lain dormant, came to life with a flurry of pained activity. Remus groaned and put out the flame.

He turned jealously to his right. Even bloody _Peter_ had managed to transfigure his salamander successfully. By virtue of his friends’ clandestine Animagus swotting, they’d all but managed to leave him in the dust as far as Transfiguration went. No doubt McGonagall, who had always considered him one of the smartest of the group, would have a surprised _hem_ and a furtive look over the tip of her spectacles to spare him. Ruddy _Peter!_

‘Psst! Psst, Moony!’ James’ hands held his spectacles up on his nose as they threatened to fall off from the force of his excited whispering from the next desk.

‘Kind of busy right now, Prongs.’ The candle-lizard had now taught itself how to stand on its hind legs, making it the tallest experiment in the classroom. Surely that had to count for something, right? Hadn’t it now liberated its forelegs to put them to more intelligent use, in much the same manner that early humans had?

‘Busy? Busy with – hey, wait, Moony – is your candle _flexing?_’

Well – maybe not the most intelligent use. ‘Stuff it, Potter.’

‘Mr. Lupin, if you would kindly remain focused on your work.’ McGonagall’s tone was milder than it would have been for most students, but the injustice of it still rankled Remus. Beside him, James smirked, not unlike a strutting peacock. Strict disciplinarian though she was, McGonagall had a fabled soft spot for James, what with him being the greatest Transfiguration prodigy to walk these hallowed halls since, well, _her_.

‘Moony!’ James again. This time his spectacles actually did fall off, and he had to dive down to pick them up before continuing to speak. McGonagall _had _to have noticed that, surely?

‘As you can see, Prongs, I’m not exactly at liberty to speak,’ Remus whispered out of the corner of his lips.

James frowned, his eyebrows furrowing together thoughtfully. He looked into Remus’ eyes, and gruffly nodded his approval. Remus blinked slowly. This was probably the first time James Potter had agreed to leave well enough alone during a classroom. Maybe he was finally growing up a little. About time, he thought, turning his head back towards his misbegotten creation, which had now developed and was practicing a rudimentary form of calisthenics on his desk. Remus concentrated very hard on the image of a salamander in his head before waving his wand,

‘_Facies Lacerti!’_

Remus blinked. A pair of black, beady lizard eyes blinked back at him. From their rightful position on a lizard’s head. The head, unfortunately, was on its not so rightful position on top of a candlestick, which, emboldened by its sudden acquisition of four new senses, dove back into its exercise regimen with renewed fervour. Remus groaned and bent his head onto his desk, cradling it in his arms, bemoaning the fates and his bloody perfect friends all the while.

‘Mr. Rosier, I don’t recall asking you to give your salamander the gift of flight. Undo it at once!’ A cacophony of sound blasted Remus out of his reverie – Rosier’s lizard had spouted four sets of fluffy angelic wings and was soaring across the classroom, crooning at a gratingly high pitch as it did so – almost, but not quite, drowning out the sounds of Rosier attempting to explain to McGonagall that it wasn’t him, that he didn’t know how to do this-

‘-Right then Moony. Now that Minnie’s taken care of for a spot, let’s talk!’

Okay, so maybe James Potter wasn’t growing up quite yet.

Remus turned his head in resignation. His own project wasn’t going to get anywhere in this class, so it seemed he’d just have to pester James till he explained how to do it for homework. ‘Yeah, Prongs?’

‘I know how to make you happy.’ James’ face radiated earnestness.

‘Great – why don’t you go back to when I was little and just got bit? I’m sure my family and I could do with it then,’ Remus replied acerbically. No response came. He looked up to see that James had turned as red as a tomato. He sighed, ‘Just a little joke, Prongs.’

The tomato slowly lost colour. ‘Right, I knew that.’

‘What’s this about making me happy?’

‘Well, you know you’ve been a right depressing blight on this world since _it_ happened, right?’

‘I’m aware.’

‘And you know your excellent friend Mr. Prongs would never let you go through this agony without finding a way out of it for you, right?’

‘…Where are you going with this?’

James’ hands waved splendidly, a magician on the verge of his final and most impressive act. ‘Remus, you need a _girl.’_

Remus blinked. Then he blinked again. ‘Sorry?’

‘It’s perfect, I’m telling you! I know that you’re past the worst of the whole affair, and that you’re still down about the whole thing because you’ve not been able to let loose about it entirely, and I figure maybe that’s because you can’t really get into talking about all that sappy stuff with your bloke friends. Therefore, ergo, so on and so forth – what you need is a bird!’ His eyes shone maniacally.

Looking at the strange glint in James’ eyes, Remus realized immediately that he needed to lead his friend far far away from his conclusion at once, lest Prongs decide to take it upon himself to shack Remus up with whoever happened to be available in the Hogwarts dating market. Still, he was also developing an interesting hunch as to where James’ proclamation came from.

_You know what they say about curiosity_, he mused.

‘Say, Prongs?’

‘Yes?’

‘Just out of curiosity – how did you realize girls were the best solution to problems? It couldn’t have been… experience, could it?’

James’ rapidly reddening return to tomato-hood was worth all the trouble this would cause in the future.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James' continued attempts at cheering his friend up finally backfire.

It had not been worth all the trouble it had come to cause in the future.

Remus was no longer safe whenever James was in the same room as him and a girl. Just yesterday, he’d had to get up and leave the common room as James not-so-subtly struck up a conversation with a bemused sixth year, and continually attempted to direct the topic towards Remus’ rugged physique.

‘I mean, I’ve just been hearing that scars are sexy, yknow?’

It had been the latest in a series of increasingly blatant attempts by James to indicate to the female population that Remus was not, in fact, gay or asexual, and was very much a desirable piece of meat up for grabs to womankind. Remus’ only saving grace so far had been that most of the girls had just looked at James a bit oddly, and asked him if he was up to some prank or another. Thank Merlin for James Potter’s legendary lack of smoothness.

They were in the greenhouse right now, attending their Herbology lesson, which offered Remus a moment of respite – James could not chat up girls on his behalf in a classroom.

‘What do you think about that Diana girl? Mmm, those legs – just like a well built ostrich, eh?’

Partial respite, anyway.

‘…Why would you say ostrich?’

James shrugged. ‘They’ve got some damn fine legs.’

Remus’ lips crinkled – fine, maybe James’ complete obliviousness to appropriate metaphors was a positive side effect of his friends’ Animagus training.

‘So, wolf-boy. You want to chase down that ostrich?’

And then again, maybe not.

‘Prongs. I’m telling you this as a friend. Never say anything remotely resembling that sentence again.’

‘Whatever,’ James rolled his eyes. Apart from Lily Evans, nobody had actually yet apprised him of his legendary lack of smoothness. ‘All I’m saying is, you could get with her!’

‘For the last time, Prongs, I _really_ don’t need a girlfriend.’

‘It’s going to help you out of this slump, Moony!’ The sickening earnestness was back again. Remus wrung his hands in frustration.

‘Listen, James, I’m _really_ not slumping, and I don’t need a girlfriend, and everything is going to be _just fine,’ _his words came out more bitingly than earlier.

‘You keep saying shit like that, but you’re _clearly not fine!’ _James vibrated intensely as he bristled. ‘You’re not acting like you used to, you’re sleeping way longer than before, you’re missing meals – yeah, don’t think I didn’t notice,’ here he waved his finger accusatorily, ‘and most importantly, you’re not hanging out with us as much as you used to! Don’t think for a second that you can bullshit me with all of that “yeah, I’m fine, please Prongs, I’m juuuust fine” nonsense. You are going through _tough times_, Remus Lupin!’ Just as suddenly as the fire came to him, it faded away, ‘…and I just want to help.’

Remus stood stunned for a moment, the raw honesty of the moment having quite overcome his usual sangfroid. After an awkward few seconds of silence, he let out a deep breath, allowing his shoulders to sag against him. James deserved a better answer.

‘Thanks, Prongs. Really, I do mean it.’ He paused to figure out how to best phrase his next few sentences, but as James seemed liable to open his mouth and interrupt him at any second, he hurriedly kept speaking. ‘You’re right, I’m not exactly completely fine. I still wouldn’t say I’m slumping, but yeah, I’m not completely perfect. It’s just – you remember when we first had that talk? About forgiveness?’ James nodded mutely. ‘Well – I guess it sort of ties back to that. I’m not quite…’ He trailed off, worrying at his lip with his teeth, eyes falling to look at the ground.

‘You’re not quite? Yes? Go on?’ James was insistent today. Perhaps he could tell that Remus would let slip sooner rather than later.

‘Well.’ Remus brought his eyes back up to meet James’, slowly, forcefully. ‘I’m not so sure that I’ve gotten over it yet.’

‘Well, _no shit_, Moony.’ James rudely interrupted the emotional moment by snorting loudly. ‘Anyone with eyes could have told you that. Explain it a bit better, you dolt.’

Remus resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Still, James’ untimely bluntness had managed to make it easier to say it like he wanted to.

‘I’ve not forgiven myself. I don’t know if I ever will. But that’s not the matter. The thing is,’ he gulped, and took in a deep breath, ‘I’m actually not so sure that I’ve forgiven Sirius.’

James’ eyes suddenly looked tired. He raised his hand to rub at his forehead. ‘I thought you said that you did?’

‘I did. Well, I thought I did. No, I mean I did. But not completely. Not totally.’ He couldn’t make sense of the rambling escaping his mouth.

‘I’m really not following, Moony. Help me out, here?’

‘I mean – what I mean is-‘ Merlin, it really was hard to put into words. No wonder Prongs wasn’t following it. _He_ couldn’t seem to follow it himself. ‘That is to say, I don’t think he meant it, and I forgive him that but… - But, there’s a whole bunch of possible outcomes where he would have meant it – I mean that, it’s not just about what happened, it’s about what he _thought_ would have happened – and, I don’t know! It’s not just about him, it’s me too – I’m – I’m just not finding it as easy to forgive as you are, Prongs!’ Remus shook his head firmly, trying to get all of his thoughts to fit back into their proper places.

James smiled wanly, ‘Well, obviously, Moony, it happened to you, nobody expects you to get over it as quickly-‘

‘-No, no, it has nothing to do with that. I don’t find it as easy to forgive as you because we’re just different people, James,’ Remus interrupted sharply.

‘Different people?’ James’ hand ran through his hair as he fixed Remus with an inquisitive look.

‘Yes. Me and you. Sirius, too. He’s more like me, actually. I doubt he’s forgiven himself either.’ James continued to look on uncomprehendingly. ‘Look, I’m not trying to say that you’re a pampered little arse, but you’re sort of a pampered little arse. You’ve had a rather great life, and you’ve known rather great people.’

The confusion was clearly only beginning to increase. ‘Okay, but what does that have to do with this?’

‘Everything, Prongs. You’ve only seen the good in people. You’re such a bloody _hero_, for Merlin’s sake, you even saved Snape! You can’t understand what it’s like to not be able to forgive people, because you can’t help but forgive them. It’s just not something you’d understand.’

The bell rang. James opened his mouth to speak, but Remus had already picked up his bag and shouldered his way out. It hurt, but he knew that James wasn’t someone he could discuss his feelings with. They were worlds apart.


	8. Chapter 8

James Potter was in a mood. Thankfully, it wasn’t much like the last mood he’d had, when gloominess had made itself acquainted with every corner of the castle and its grounds. Today’s mood was nothing so admirable – no feeling of immense Shakespearean tragedy followed James as he stalked through the Quidditch pitch. Men and women did not look at him and feel overcome with the sudden urge to weep. Professors did not see him and want nothing more than to go home to their families and tell them that they loved them. Hagrid did not put himself back to bed at noon after meeting him and having had the bright, sunny day transformed into a gloomy ocean of grey.

Because today, there was nothing particularly impressive about James Potter’s mood. He was, as Remus Lupin quipped acerbically, throwing a tantrum. Still, whether or not the mood was impressive, James’ skills certainly were. Therefore, any student who did not wish to suddenly spout a pimply backside, have their feet Transfigured into roller blades, or – James’ current favourite – have their top half turn into an ostrich knew well to stay out of his way. Poor Davy Gudgeon, a brave Hufflepuff fourth year, had not gotten the memo, and now sported a pair of rather majestic horns for his troubles.

In short, most people weren’t much inclined to do something or anything about James’ fit. If he wanted to go stomping on the Quidditch pitch as though it owed him money, or worse, had asked Lily Evans out – well, that was very much his own business, and there was nothing that they would be doing about it.

James’ purported friends were among these people. Remus, supposing his recent conversation with James to be the cause of the tantrum, was surly and declined to go and do anything about it. Sirius was still attempting to be particularly nice to Remus to make up for the Prank, and therefore automatically followed his lead on the issue. And although Peter would very much have liked to go and speak to James, who had always been his favourite of the Marauders, he convinced himself that the expressed desire of the majority and the democratic writ of the people had to be respected above all else, and that his decision not to go and inquire with James had more to do with said principle than anything else (such as the fact that James might not look twice before hexing, and Peter would end up in the Hospital Wing having to have his hooves turned back into hands – again.)

So, when James Potter was absent in the Great Hall as the gongs rang for lunch, fuming as he walked absentmindedly into the Forbidden Forest, he was alone, and quite without allies in the events he was to witness.

‘Stupid self-righteous sod,’ the raven haired boy grumbled as he trudged defiantly through the piles of golden-red autumn leaves. ‘Oh James, you could never understand, you’re such a pampered little arse – my FOOT!’ He kicked wildly at a tree, then jumped back, hands rushing to his newly injured foot as he hopped out, cursing frantically.

‘Dew-beating, dratepoking FOPDOODLES!’

One of the nice things about being alone was that James didn’t really have to check his vocabulary for the strange words he’d picked up around his aged parents (Fleamont being a spry specimen of one hundred and forty, and Euphemia a beaming one hundred and thirty seven years young.) It was always nice to let loose in the truly characteristic Potter fashion. His tender food summarily avenged by his vicious verbal onslaught, James’ thoughts continued back to where they had been moments ago.

Okay, so maybe Remus had a point about him being a little pampered. He was sure that if Remus had hurt his foot just now, then the ensuing exclamations would have been considerably less fluffy-old-grandma and decidedly more sailor-making-fish-blush-as-he-falls-off-his-boat. Fine. He was pampered. And so what? Nothing wrong with having come from a rich family. Nothing at all. It wasn’t as though James was especially proud of it or anything. Remus was just a jealous young whippersnapper, that was all. And to suggest that somehow James’ lack of experiences meant that he couldn’t relate to and help fix what Remus was going through right now? The very idea was –

Well. It was pretty reasonable, really. And therein lied the rub, didn’t it? James sighed. He knew full well that he was being a bit of an unreasonable dolt instead of a normal and accepting friend right now. When he eventually got back to the castle, he would have to apologize to Remus, whose only sin had been getting a bit shirty with him after what had admittedly been a rather driven campaign to get possibly the shyest boy in the school to chat up some rather intimidating women. James was a reasonable young man – he was more than willing to concede that there was a remote possibility that some small part of this whole affair could theoretically be partially blamed on him.

And so, just as quickly as it had come, James’ anger vanished. The stomping of his feet was replaced with the delicate thud of light hoofsteps upon the matted grass, as Prongs started moving where James had stopped. He had some time to himself, after all – why not use it for a pleasant afternoon stroll?

Prongs gamboled majestically through the depths of the forest, the trees and animals seeming to herald his glorious charge as he passed them. Sirius would have called it ‘prancing’ of course, but Sirius was a stupid slobbering mutt who didn’t know any better. James knew he looked good, and he kept that thought in his mind as he darted in and out of the trees until the sun began to set, a vision of regal splendor for any who might chance to see him.

He’d needed the walk more than he’d realized. As James began to make his way out of the forest, still cloaked in Prongs’ skin, he felt more peace than he could remember feeling since before everything had started to go wrong. Even when things had started to look up, he had still had a manic energy running through him – animating him with a desire to do something, anything, to make things better – possessed with the desire to stop them from going wrong again. Peace was an old friend from before the wars, and he gladly welcomed it back. Now he would go back to Hogwarts, apologize to Moony, lock his neck in his elbow and mess his hair up (it was only fair – Remus had been shirty with him), and then figure out how to get one of those experiences which turned pampered little arses into proper men of the world.

With his head full of pleasant daydreams as he trotted merrily along, James almost missed them at first. He sauntered right past the small clearing, realized that something hadn’t quite sat right in his head, and turned back to look again. And there it was – in a small clearing, maybe ten metres wide, stood six Hogwarts students – Slytherins, James registered in the back of his mind upon seeing the crests on their robes – looking very much like they had no business being there.

His curiosity was piqued. Something smelled like trouble around here, and James – bless his heart, as his mother would say- had never been able to resist its tantalizing scent. So he hid in a bush, laying his four legs neatly on the ground and concealing his antlers in the shrubbery, trained his eyes on the possible miscreants, and waited.

James recognized four of them – Crabbe, Selwyn, Nott, and Avery. The other two, he was fairly certain, were seventh years. While their names eluded him, he vaguely remembered them chumming around Lucius Malfoy when he had still been a student, and that, more than anything, convinced him that it was no innocent assemblage of students that he was spying on.

It was clear that they were waiting for someone or something, and equally clear that someone-or-something spelled no good. That much was evident in the frantically-started-and-immediately stopped pacing, the nervous jerks of their heads towards the slightest sound, and the feverish tapping of their fingers on their wrists. Someone-or-something was obviously late.

‘Shit!’ The voice, uncharacteristically shrill for the typically masculine Avery, cut through the tense clearing like a knife. ‘Shit! I can’t do this, I can’t – we’re going to get found out, he’s not coming, we should just get out of here, maybe he’s been caught –‘

‘If you want to leave, you’re more than welcome to.’ Nott’s voice was clear and free of any tensions, James noted. ‘This isn’t your business, anyway. He is coming for me. Run back to safe little Hogwarts and Grandpa Albus, if that is your desire. But remember that He will not look kindly on your craven behavior when your turn comes.’

‘This is mad, Alistair – absolutely barking mad. Shit, but this whole thing stinks of a setup. Maybe the letter wasn’t from Him after all. You’re just in fifth year, maybe this was planted by Dumbledore, or – I don’t know! Some stupid prank by Potter and his gang! I can’t do this, I don’t want Slughorn catching me out here, I’m in hot enough water back home as it is, I don’t need this on my record.’

‘Then run, Edward. Run back to your common room, your classes, your parents – where everything is so very safe. The faithful will wait here. We will do what needs to be done. We will make the world again in His image. You can stow yourself away in your little hidey hole until it’s all over. Though I don’t expect that you shall be received warmly, should you choose to emerge again.’

‘Wise words, Alistair Nott.’ A cold voice, so cruel that it made Nott’s callous tone seem warm, sounded through the clearing. A tall hooded figure walked into their midst, seeming to have come from nowhere at all. It turned toward Avery, ‘And you would do well to heed them, Theodore Avery. Your heritage will not be enough to mark you among the faithful when He brings the darkness. You must prove yourself worthy of the pure blood that runs through your veins. I hope, quite sincerely, that we will not have to see such weakness again?’

Say yes, James silently pleaded. He didn’t care what Avery wanted or thought, he just needed him to say yes. The grim figure’s arrival had wrapped the atmosphere in a suffocating sense of foreboding, a pitiless dread that brooked no room for contradiction. James was more frightened than he had ever been in his life. The magic used by the Slytherins he had fought seemed now to be nothing more than the pebbles of playground scuffles. This sensation – no, this primal instinct telling him to run, run away, James, RUN! –only this could truly be considered the terror of the Dark Arts.

Avery seemed to be experiencing much the same sensation. ‘Y-yes, sir. Of course, sir. Never again, sir,’ he blubbered ungracefully, teeth almost chattering with the effort of the pronunciation.

The hooded man threw his head back and laughed. There was a feral, untamed quality to it – completely at odds with the sophisticated and coldly distant speech. Something in the laugh spoke to lust and violence and the soft crooning of a predator as he first meets eyes with his unwitting prey. Prongs’ every hair was on edge, all of his cervoid impulses telling him to flee, flee, flee – or he would die here.

‘I love coming for them when they’re still young.’ The quality of his speech had changed now – the cold mask from earlier had been dropped, and a throaty pleasure had entered his voice. ‘You all scare so easy. I could make you wet yourself with a word. Remember that, boy,’ he nodded to Avery. ‘Remember how I made you feel when you first saw me. And then think – soon you’ll be able to do the same to others. Think of that power. It’s beyond anything you’ve yet dreamed of. Yes, He will teach you – how to break a person’s mind and will just by standing before them. One day, should you all pass your trials, you’ll have the same authority I do.’ He tilted his head for a moment, as though pondering. ‘Well, almost, anyway. There’s some things that you just can’t teach. Some things that you have to have been given by your sire.’

Nott stepped bravely forward. ‘Fenrir Greyback, I presume?’ He proffered his hand.

‘Well, well,’ Greyback threw back his hood. Not much could be seen of his face, but his yellow eyes gleamed hungrily in the dark, ‘Looks like little Alistair’s mummy and daddy taught him some manners.’ James was repulsed by his very speech. It was as though every word which came from his mouth was transformed into a ghastly profanity. The more innocent the words, the more depraved they became in their metamorphosis. ‘That’s right,’ he turned to face the rest of the assemblage, thrusting his arms out as he proclaimed, ‘I am Fenrir Greyback, the First Wolf of the Dark Lord! I’ve come here today for Alistair Nott, to bring him into our ranks. As communicated in the invitation, he will have to complete a task to prove his dedication and loyalty to Him.’ He turned again to Nott, his voice taking on again the cold quality it had demonstrated when he had first spoken.

‘Are ye prepared to complete whatever task is given ye, Alistair Nott, though it may test ye beyond any trial that ye have yet faced?’

‘Yes!’ Nott’s visage was contorted into an expression of ecstatic pleasure.

‘Will ye swear to pledge your life and soul in service and eternal devotion to the Dark Lord, mightiest among wizardkind, restorer of the natural order of the world?’

‘Yes!’ No newlywed’s smile could have been more radiant than the one which graced Nott’s face at that precise moment.

‘And will ye, when said challenge comes, be prepared to lay down your life fighting for the self-same cause?

‘I will. I swear it!’ His voice was feverish.

‘Then the bond has been forged, and your old life forfeit. I accept your fealty on behalf of our Lord. You will not be given our Mark until your task is complete, however. The Dark Lord does not allow bold words to go untested until such time that equally bold actions have been performed.’

‘What is my task?’ Eager eyes strained against their bonds.

Greyback laughed, and the coldness was replaced again by the uneasy sense of vicious lust.

‘Why, boy – you’re going to have to kill a Mudblood for us.’


	9. Chapter 9

A quiet chill set into James’ bones. Murder. That was what this would all come down to – a would-be Death Eater initiate trialed for his willingness and capacity to strike dead one of his classmates. Given that Nott’s expression of sheer delight had not shaken, even for a moment, upon hearing Greyback’s demand, it seemed clear that willingness would not be an issue. All that mattered now was whether or not Nott would be capable of carrying out the assignment given to him.

The noise of the clearing faded into the background of James’ mind. He didn’t have time to pay attention to the rest of the conversation – he had to take action immediately. But – what action? The answer presented itself immediately.

_Run back to the castle and tell Dumbledore, you moron_.

Prongs closed his eyes. James Potter opened them, body still concealed in the clammy shrubbery of the Forbidden Forest. He would make better (and more stealthy progress) without having to worry about navigating the thicket of trees and bushes with the unwieldy weight and size of his Animagus form. Slowly, very slowly, he began to extract himself from the bush, every muscle of his body tight with tension. With a little bit of effort, he managed to pull himself out, and lying flat on his stomach, he began to crawl away from the clearing.

Unfortunately for James, stealth had never been among his stronger suits. Perpetual access to his ancestral Invisibility Cloak had all but atrophied his natural sneaking instincts, and he was incapable of moving without making a sound. His slow crawling caused the autumn leaves to rustle and fallen twigs to break and snap beneath the weight of his body. Still – a typical human being would likely have noticed nothing questionable about the sounds, especially in the forest, and the Slytherin students did not pay any heed to them. Fenrir Greyback, however, was no typical human being.

‘_Impedimenta_!’

James heard the soft whoosh of the jinx being cast before it struck him, rendering him nearly immobile.

‘You’ll no doubt be pleased to hear, gentlemen, that we have an unexpected guest today. Why not show him our hospitality and bring him here, that we may see his face?’ The sound of heavy footfall and the crushing of leaves reached James before the Slytherins roughly grabbed him and lifted him up, dragging him back toward the clearing and to Greyback.

He was shoved in front of the Dark wizard, finally able to see him clearly. Greyback’s eyes were tinged a light amber, not too unlike Remus’. But there could not have been a sharper contrast between Remus’ soft, tired eyes, and Greyback’s cruel smirking stare. His whole body looked worse for the wear – there was scarcely an inch of him which was not covered in scars. James was no fool – even if he had not been friends with Remus and familiar with the scars that a werewolf’s body wore, he had heard enough about Dark wizards to be familiar with the infamous Fenrir Greyback. The wizard was notorious as much for his proficiency in the Dark Arts as he was for his lycanthropy. He was the discriminatory and disgusting caricature of the werewolf that James had tried so hard to combat for over half a decade now – feral, savage, and sadistic. And he stood now in front of him.

‘Well, you don’t exactly look old enough to be an Auror. And your eyes are yet too bright and joyful for you to be in the Order. Unless you’re some new recruit – is that it?’

James remained silent. It was Avery who answered, saying, ‘He’s no Auror – that’s James Potter. He’s the ringleader of that little gang of sixth year Gryffindor troublemakers.’

Greyback’s lips curved slowly upward. ‘James Potter, is it? A Hogwarts student?’ The cold chill of his voice phased once again into throaty and bestial heat. ‘You’re no spy after all, are you, boy? No, spies would be made of sterner stuff. If I released my spell, your teeth would chatter and you’d fall to the floor in a heap, wouldn’t you? Little James all alone with the big bad wolf. And you do look so very fresh.’

James’ senses were almost entirely whited out by fear. He could not feel, taste, smell, breathe. Pain and death faced him directly in the face. He could not form a single coherent thought. A series of instincts and urges flitted through his mind – _RUN_, no, don’t run, just surrender, he’ll eat you if you run, no, you can’t surrender, he’ll just eat you later, no, you have to get away from here, no, James, think, think, _THINK_, there’s no point, there’s no way out of this.

‘Not going to say anything?’ Greyback seemed bored. ‘I thought you Gryffindors were supposed to be brave. Always thought I’d have been in Gryffindor if I’d gone to Hogwarts. I’d have expected finer company than you.’ He gestured to Avery. ‘Give me his wand. No point to him keeping it if he doesn’t intend to give me any sport.’

Greyback turned to Nott, who had been silently standing to the side and observing the interaction.

‘Well, it doesn’t appear that young James here poses any difficulties for us. It is time for you to now go and perform the task assigned to you. One dead Mudblood. Try and be hasty about it, boy. I don’t have all day.’

‘What, right now?’ Nott asked, surprised. ‘But there will be teachers, and Dumbledore-‘

‘-Dumbledore is out of the way. He’s been called to the Wizengamot on “urgent business” by Abraxas Malfoy.’ Greyback smiled toothily, but then sternly continued, ‘And I don’t think that it shows much grit for a devotee of the Dark Lord to be worried about his teachers catching him, do you? They won’t be your teachers come tomorrow, anyway. Go and kill me a Mudblood, boy. Resourcefulness in difficult situations is an essential skill for any Death Eater. I’m not here to babysit you and walk you through this. It is time to become a man.’

Nott breathed deeply, then nodded. Greyback gestured at the students, ‘The rest of you, go with him. There’s no need for you all to stand around here now – it will appears suspicious if you’re absent too long. Report back here once you’ve completed your assignment. If you fail, you’d just as well not show up. I’ll be here for the next few hours. Get to, now, and don’t show your face until you’ve taken your first life, boy.’

With Nott at their head, the students slowly shuffled out of the forest. It was just James and Greyback now. James raised his head to the skies and prayed feverishly for them to fail. Many of the Muggleborns at Hogwarts were his friends. Two of his Chasers, so many of his classmates, _Lily_ – he couldn’t bear it if any of them were caught in Nott’s hideous assignment.

“Well, well, well,” Greyback said, “What am I going to do with you, boy?”

James gulped. In his concern for the students, he had completely forgotten his own situation. He was trapped, alone and wandless, in the Forbidden Forest with one of the most notorious Death Eaters alive. There was almost no way that he could make it out of here alive.

Then, was this going to be the end? He hadn’t lived a very long or very full life. He had spent much of it clowning away with his friends. He had done no great deeds, saved nobody in need of help, found no passionate love. _I’m not ready to go yet._ But there would be no choice in the matter. In moments he would be torn to shreds by the man before him. James had read often enough of the soothing calm which came upon heroes in the moments before their inevitable death – Merlin at the hands of Nimue in the Caves of Time, Archmagus Jadegar as he stood alone before the Scourge of Darkenshore, even his own grandfather Charlus Potter as he faced down Gellert Grindelwald, the greatest Dark Wizard in history. But there was no calm or peace here. Those men had all lived full lives, and had come acceptingly to the close. No peace now for James Fleamont Potter. Just the blazing will to live, causing his heart to throb harder and harder, as though to make up for the life which was about to be stolen from him. But he would be brave. He would not let Greyback sense his fear. He might not have the same sense of peace that all of those great heroes had, but he would be the perfect model of their straight backed, defiant bravery.

“You won’t get any fun out of me. I’m going to die quietly. There won’t be any pleas for mercy.” His voice came out strong, without any quavering – the exact opposite of his trembling mind.

“No pleas for mercy, eh? That’s certainly something I’d contest…” Greyback leaned over James and peered into his eyes, the haunting yellow orbs shining like harvest moons in the dark of the forest. “But in spite of the sport you might yet give me, pup, I see no reason to kill you here. I don’t even need to keep your wand. Here, take it. Just wait for my lads to return and you’re free to go. It’s not as though you can stop them once the deed is done.”

Time stopped. Free to go? Wasn’t he supposed to die?

“You’re not killing me?”

“I may not mingle in polite society, boy, but I do keep my tabs on it. James Potter. Your family might not be from the Twenty Eight, but it’s close enough. If I kill you needlessly it could make my master very angry. And he could make me squeal a hundred times louder than I could get you to. No, you could make a Death Eater yet – If you sit tight and wait around, I’ve no cause to spill your pure blood.”

James had a chance to get out. He could still be alive at the end of this night. All he had to do was do nothing. Nobody would ever even know. His mind was still numbly processing the information when Greyback spoke again, sniffing the air almost curiously.

“You know, pup, I’ve been picking up the strangest scent coming from the direction of the school. I’m getting on in years, but I’m almost entirely certain I know what it is. Did you know that there’s a werewolf in your midst? One of mine, in fact. I can’t place exactly who, but a sire can always pick up the scent of his brood.”

“You bit Remus?” The words escaped James’ mouth before he could think. Remus had never told, _never­, _who his assailant had been.

“Oh, the werewolf is no surprise to you, then? Remus. Hmm… I daresay I’ve heard that name. Now, where…?” He paced the clearing, forehead scrunched up in concentration.

“You did this to him.” The words came out in a low monotone, as though James were reading out a passage in class. “You took his life away. You turned him into a monster. You’re the reason he rips himself to shreds every month. You’re the reason his world is hell.” The words slipped out of his lips in an uncontrollable frenzy. “You’re why he’s never going to feel normal. You should be dead.”

Greyback turned to face James, raising a lazy eyebrow. “And what of it? Do you think me unfamiliar with the trials and tribulations of being a werewolf, pup? I’ve been cursed with that exquisite agony for longer than you’ve been alive. I know everything of the bone-crushing, skin-tearing anguish that your Remus has to face every moon. Don’t think to patronize me.”

“But you’re evil. You practice the Dark Arts, and you work with Voldemort-“

“- _Do not take his name!-“_

“Fine, with your Dark Lord, and you bit a little boy even though you knew what it would do to him!”

A grim silence rose in the clearing as the echoes of James’ shouting faded away. Greyback spoke, a tiredness in his voice. “And has your Remus never tried to bite someone?”

_Never_. The word was on James’ lips, ready to come bursting out in defense of his friend, when it stopped. Snape. Remus had nearly condemned Snape to a lifetime of pain, albeit unwittingly. It would have broken him to have done so. He had had no control. Was it the same with Greyback? But then –

“Why are you with the Death Eaters? They hate part-human races just as much as they hate Muggleborns.”

“Do you think your side better, boy? There is no place in this world for a werewolf.”

“But that can change – Remus got into Hogwarts! We can change the world. We’ve done so much wrong, but we can become better. Your Dark Lord is never going to do that.” A burst of overwhelming compassion took over James – he felt as if he were before Remus again. Greyback’s yellowed eyes and scarred face no longer seemed to be the picture of a cruel monster, but of a victim of fate. Here before him was a Remus who had never had help, who had grown up alone in a hateful world, condemned before he had ever had a chance to live. But he could still save him. An unquenchable loyalty burned in his heart. He could save him. For Remus. “Come to us! I know that Dumbledore will understand – he can hide you, the Ministry will never have to find out, you can atone for whatever you’ve done, and we can work on a new and better world together!” His hands gestured frenziedly about throughout his impassioned monologue. He could feel the weight of destiny pushing him to do what was right. Greyback would turn now – of course he would. He had never wanted what life had given him. A chance to do right, to be better, to be loved - he would come running at the thought.

Greyback tipped his head back and howled with laughter. The throaty sounds of his merriment rent the silence of the clearing. Gasping for breath, he lowered his head and looked once more at James, hard yellow stones peering into soft brown orbs. “This is almost too precious, pup. Do you mean to tell me that a few sad words actually convinced you that I’m a poor, long lost, suffering werewolf?” He wiped at his eyes. “I do not care for a world in which my kind live better lives. I am not bonded to the misery of each and every werewolf – it is their own to deal with. I couldn’t care less. The Dark Lord has offered me power, and the right to dominion and fear over the minds of the weak. I intend to enjoy it.” His voice dropped, a low crooning, almost as though to a lover. “And, just to make sure you quite understand, pup. Your Remus? I think I’ve finally placed him – Lyall Lupin’s boy, isn’t he? He’s no mistake, no regretful discovery made the morning after the full moon. I went to the fields near little Lupin’s house the night of the moon. His father had been insufferably insolent with me, you see. I could not let his transgressions go unpunished. Young Remus was chosen by me to be the cross his father would have to bear for his sins. I _chose_ to bite him and condemn him.” His smile grew impossibly wide. “What do you say, pup? Still willing to forgive me and let me “atone” for my sins?”

James clenched his fist. “You’re twisted. You’re completely _sick._” His hands rushed up to his head, manically grasping at his hair.

“That’s right, pup. The world isn’t split into an assemblage of little good boys like you and a handful of misguided, lost souls. We Death Eaters enjoy our work, for the most part.” James clenched his fists even tighter as Greyback continued to speak. “I think I’m going to enjoy educating you while we wait for the boys to return. Poor, naïve, little boy. Allow me to become the teacher Hogwarts was never able to provide to you. This world is rotten to the core.”

“I’m not waiting around.” James spoke in a measured tone of voice, his hands now loose by his sides.

“Oh?”

“I’m going to stop you.” His hand tightened slowly around his wand.

“Think carefully, boy. You have a chance at life, yet. It will expire the instant you raise that little stick against me.”

James’ heart thudded violently. He could still live. He could do nothing – nobody would know. But that wasn’t the stuff heroes were made of. And he knew now, having seen the true essence of Greyback’s soul, that there was a real evil worth fighting against in this world. His wand hand twitched slightly upward.

“I’m warning you, pup. Your schoolboy jinxes won’t last you an instant against me.”

He still had time, even though he’d wasted so much talking. He had to fight Greyback now. He entertained no hope of beating him. The man was a notoriously skilful Dark Wizard. But he could at least distract him, and then flee to the castle to warn the teachers. The chance was low, so very low, but he had to at least try to take it. If he died now, he would die fighting. His hand continued its perilous ascent.

“Is it worth your life, James Potter?”

Was it? Every sinew in his body screamed _NO!_ His pulse raged angrily at him for daring to throw away the most precious gift he had ever been given. But though the pulse raged, his heart was set. He would not live to see them die. _Lily_. He was thinking about her even now. _Wow_, James thought, _she really does mean something special after all, huh?_

But it was not Lily who compelled his mind to overcome the weakness of his flesh. He saw Peter’s little smile, made dazzling because he was just so happy to have friends. He heard Sirius’ barking laugh, ready to take on whatever challenge the world threw at him. And he felt Remus’ guiding hand, steady, sure, and always willing to do what it took to keep his friends happy and loved.

It was for Remus that he raised his hand and pointed his wand at Greyback’s chest. This was personal.

“_Diffindo!”_

A jet of red light shot out of the edge of James’ wand. Greyback deflected it with a simple wave of his hand, without so much as drawing his wand or uttering a single word. He drew his wand now, eyes glinting, murderous yellow diamonds in the jacketing darkness.

“I’m going to enjoy this.”

He sliced his wand through the air, creating a row of silver daggers in the air before him, before stabbing it violently forward, causing them to rush at James. James tossed his body sideways, a practiced maneuver to evade Bludgers, causing the daggers to sink harmlessly into a nearby tree. He raised his voice and shouted “_Incarcerous!” _A thicket of vines ripped out from the ground near Greyback, wrapping themselves around his body and restricting his movement.

This was James’ chance. He turned and began to run toward the castle, hoping against hope that disentangling from the vines would take Greyback enough time for him to make his retreat.

A sharp _crack!_ cut into the air behind him, and James felt himself bowled over as a jinx hit him from behind. Greyback walked slowly forward. James rolled off the ground and turned to face him, throwing out jinx after jinx. Greyback casually deflected them to the side, one after another, setting nearby bushes on fire and blasting scorch marks into tree trunks. There was no contest to be had here. Greyback was on another level than anyone James had ever dueled before – no amount of schoolyard trickery could give him the upper hand.

“Give up, James Potter. You cannot stop me.” The voice brooked no disagreement – it was as the word of God punishing an unruly disciple.

No trickery would work. Just the most powerful and magnificent magic – something Greyback couldn’t toss aside with a casual flick of his hand. James clenched his teeth. There was a spell in his mind – it wasn’t something anyone in his year had managed to cast in the classroom yet, Professor Flitwick having set it as a joke one day to show them how even the simplest charms could be incredibly difficult to cast. But he would have to do it now, he had no other choices.

He cast his mind back to the day that they had first told Remus about their new Animagus transformations. He saw the expressions on Remus’ face – fury transformed into disbelief, and then that uncontrollable happiness, the smile that had grabbed hold of his entire face and refused to let go, threatening to shake the very foundations of his sorrow. James’ voice, choked up with love, whispered the incantation.

“_Expecto Patronum!”_

A massive white stag burst from the tip of his wand, galloping towards Greyback, who, stunned by its sudden appearance, was knocked over. James immediately fired a Full Body-Bind at him, taking advantage of the chaos caused by his Patronus. _Of course it’s a stag_, he wryly commented in the back of his head. That would be something to laugh about later. For now, Greyback lay motionless in the ground. He had done it. He could still make it back to the castle to stop the Slytherins. He walked slowly over to Greyback’s stunned body to take his wand, kneeling over to grab it.

“_Crucio!”_

There was nothing but pain. He no longer had a body, a mind, or a heart. Just a million billion needles stabbing into everything that was James Potter. And it didn’t feel like there would be a James Potter very much longer, either – that would just be pain, too. It was fire beneath his skin, icy blades serrating his flesh, salt poured sadistically onto open wounds, boiling oil tipped into his eyes. And then it was over.

He found himself curled up in a ball, arms locked tightly around his still shivering legs. His throat was hoarse – had he been screaming? Every inch of his body –_ he could feel his body again­_ – felt as though it had been doused in flame.

“An enchanting attempt, James Potter, I’ll give you that. And yet it was nothing more than the feeble bite of a petulant pup. The grown wolf feels it not.” Greyback stood over him, looming ominously through the pain.

“You’ll never win,” spat out James. He didn’t know why he said it, but he knew he had to say something. He would not spend his final moments silent and beaten.

“Hmm. I think you’ll find I’ve already won.” Greyback straightened his wand and pointed it directly at James. “Have you ever heard of the Killing Curse, young Potter? It’s notoriously difficult to cast. Only the greatest practitioners of the Dark Arts are capable of producing it. One of the sources of the Dark Lord’s infamy is his prodigal skill with this curse – he can toss it out in the heat of battle as though it were a simple Disarming Charm. I, of course, like most of his Death Eaters, am not capable of casting it during a challenging duel. Here and now, though, with my wand pointed at a defenseless teenager? I think I can cast it. Goodbye, James Potter. _Avada Kedav-“_

Greyback was struck dumb in the middle of the incantation. His lips moved, but no sound issued from them. A look of confusion came upon him.

“Vulgarities of that sort have no place on the grounds of my school, Fenrir.” Albus Dumbledore walked calmly forward toward the pair.

“Professor Dumbledore!” James shouted. He exhaled deeply, letting out a great sigh of relief. He was saved. But he still needed to tell him. “Professor, at the school, Nott and his gang-“

“I am fully aware of Alistair’s intended actions, James. His cohorts and himself have been apprehended and expelled, and I daresay will be spending some time in Azkaban. What a pity that it came to this.” There was a great sorrow in Dumbledore’s voice. Turning toward Greyback again, however, the sorrow transformed into a silent fury. “Did you truly believe, Fenrir, that I would allow my students to be left helpless targets in this troubled time of bloodshed and war? The Order is always watching over Hogwarts, even when ill-advised attempts such as that of Mr. Malfoy are found to drag me away. There will always be help at Hogwarts for those who need it. You will do no murder tonight. I must confess I am profoundly disappointed in your leader – I would have hoped that he would at least spare the students of Hogwarts the consequences of his delusions of grandeur, for the sake of nostalgia and love for his childhood home, if nothing else. He disgusts me. You disgust me.” The cold anger in his voice made every word seem more potent than the most powerful of spells. Listening to him now, James could understand why kindly old Dumbledore, who handed out candies and laughed at schoolyard pranks, was considered the most powerful and dangerous wizard alive.

“You’ve been very brave, James. Come with me now, and let us return to the safety of the castle. I’m sure your friends will want to know that you’re alright.” He extended his hand to James, who took it, and wincing still from the pain, dragged himself up.

“What’s going to happen to Greyback?”

“He has attempted to have a Hogwarts student murdered, and has used an Unforgiveable Curse. I see no reason that his punishment should merit anything less than a life sentence in Azkaban. Unless,” he peered over his half-moon spectacles at James, seeming to gaze into his soul, “You believe he deserves a lighter punishment?”

James thought of a life of isolation, neglect, and discrimination. He thought of a child having to move from town to town as people found out who he was, of his father’s inability to hold down a job, of the fear felt by a seven year old when he woke up after a full moon, unsure if he was still alive. He looked at Greyback and knew that he had felt it all. And yet…

“No. A life sentence sounds right to me. There’s no forgiveness for what he’s done.”


	10. Chapter 10

James treaded softly through the passages of Hogwarts, concealed beneath his Invisibility Cloak. It was the night before the full moon, and in spite of Professor Dumbledore, Sirius, and Peter insisting that he get some rest after his trying ordeal, he had only one goal on his mind. He had to see Remus. And so, four hours before Remus was due to be taken to the Shrieking Shack, he was clambering down the many stairs and racing through the myriad corridors that would lead him to the Hospital Wing, where his ailing friend waited. At length, he reached the Wing, stealthily opened its door, and crept in. Remus appeared to be the only occupant. He was propped up against a pillow on a bed at the far end of the wing, his face bearing the same sickly pallor it always did so near a transformation. James walked up to him and whipped off the cloak.

“_Merlin’s saggy b-_ you _really_ need to stop doing that, James,” Remus gasped.

“Ah, but then I’d never have the fun of seeing you wheeze and sputter like an old man, Moony!” James said brightly, pulling up a chair to sit next to Remus.

“Are you alright? I heard that there was something going on when some kids dropped by the Wing earlier – something about Nott being a Death Eater? I’ve only heard little garbled bits. Lily was here. She said that she’d heard you’d been very brave. Have you been getting mixed up in something serious, James?”

“Ahh..” James’ hand awkwardly ran through his hair. “I was hoping you’d know a bit more. Well, the short form of the story is…”

An hour passed as James informed Remus of the events of the day. His friend’s pale face grew steadily waxier and whiter as the narrative drew to a close.

“You never did mention, Moony, who it was that did this to you,” James said.

“Judging from your tone and your story, it seems like you’ve figured it out.” Remus replied, blankly.

“Yeah.” He reached out and took Remus’ cold hand, pressing it tightly between his own. “I’m so sorry.”

Remus’ face softened with concern. “Don’t be. It’s not your fault that Fenrir Greyback is a monster.”

“I thought he might have just made a mistake.”

Remus pulled his hand out from James’. “What?”

“When he was talking to me – I thought that he might have just bit you by mistake, that he didn’t intend for any of this to happen. I’m so sorry.” James spoke contritely. Remus sighed and met his friend’s eyes.

“Of course you did, Prongs. That’s just like you, isn’t it? You’d be willing to look for the good in anyone short of Salazar Slytherin himself. You’re too damned good for this world.”

“Not anymore,” James said quietly. Remus looked at him, a curious and questioning expression on his face, urging James to continue. James met his eyes and said, “He told me how he did it. How he enjoys it. I thought maybe he just felt scared and alone because he was a werewolf. You know, like how you do. And I thought I could never judge you for messing up and doing something bad, since you have such a big load to bear. I thought maybe he was like that. But he’s not, Moony, not at all. He’s pure evil. He enjoys it. He wants to hurt people and be stronger than them. I didn’t think that there really were people like that in this world.”

“You’ve been very lucky not to have to confront that reality,” Remus said softly.

“I know. And you haven’t been as lucky as me. I’ll still assume the best of people. But I do know now that there is a worst.” James looked around awkwardly while speaking, his eyes never quite meeting Remus’. “But that’s another reason I want to apologize right now. I’m sorry for being mad at you and not understanding why you were having such a problem accepting Sirius’ apology. I didn’t realize,” he stopped, took a breath, steeled himself, and turned to face Remus directly. “I didn’t realize just how much easier it is to forgive people when you always think that they might have just made a mistake, but that everyone is basically a good person who wants to be better. The full moon may be what everyone associates with the werewolf, Remus, but I know better now. You’ve seen the pitch black night in the hearts of some people. No moon there, no stars to give any light. It’s harder for you to forgive Sirius, and forgive yourself, because you’ve seen what evil looks like, isn’t it? I’m sorry for not understanding before. I’ll try to be more mature now.” James looked abashed.

Remus smiled, and then, to James’ surprise, reached over and embraced him tightly. “Stupid Prongs,” he whispered over James’ shoulder, “that’s the absolute last thing anyone would want.”

* * *

It was quiet in the Shrieking Shack in the final minutes before the moon. A boy sat alone on the bed. Until a few moments ago he had been Remus Lupin. He wasn’t anymore. He wasn’t anything at that moment. But he was about to be.

Midnight struck. The full moon shined brightly through the windows of the Shack. The boy’s body was annihilated. The wolf was born amidst the painful debris. It howled in anguish.

The door to the Shack propped open. The wolf eyed it curiously. Then it sat back happily. The rat and stag – its playmates – had walked in. The stag walked up to the wolf and nuzzled its head affectionately. The rat, keeping some distance, chirped excitedly. They set about to play.

A noise came from outside – someone trying to enter. The wolf immediately retreated to the corner of the room, hackles on edge, teeth bared at the door. The stag and the rat looked at each other, confused by the sound. The door tipped slightly open. A big, black dog cautiously entered, tail tucked down and head slightly bowed. It seemed a bit shameful about its presence.

The rat squeaked uneasily and moved to the door, positioning itself to make a quick escape if need be. The stag ducked its head toward the wolf, ready to pin it to the wall with its massive antlers if a conflict arose. The dog edged slowly closer to the wolf, which still had its jowls tensed and teeth bared. The dog looked up at the wolf, and let out a questioning bark. There was an incredible tension in the air. The wolf opened its mouth and lowered it toward the dog. The stag bent its hind legs, ready to charge. The rat edged closer to the door.

The wolf licked the dog’s face. The tension was gone. It let out a merry howl and tackled the dog, happy to have its old playmate back. As the pair rolled over on the floor, biting and clawing happily at each other, the stag and the rat exchanged a relieved, happy look. The new moon had swept away the tragedies of the old. The pack was back together again.


End file.
